


Foreign And Familiar

by Arghnon



Series: SASO2016 Fills! [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sport Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2016, First Meeting, M/M, Malaysia, Pre-Relationship, meeting in a foreign land
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7610611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arghnon/pseuds/Arghnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember when we first met in a foreign place?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreign And Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt is here: https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/13489.html?thread=3533489&posted=1#cmt3765169
> 
> From Bonus Round 1 (Memory)

This was Chikara’s third day in Malaysia and its humid heat was something he still wasn’t used too. Having spent the last two weeks in the cold winter of India, no one would be surprised. He went from thick coats and sweaters to a thin shirt and a pair of shorts. 

He had a hefty backpack but light for the usual tourist. It had notes and notebooks and pens and pencils. He kept his wallet and keys and passport in a little pouch hidden amongst the mess. The only other thing he carried was his camera and camera case. 

He was currently pushing his way through the loud sweaty crowd of the market place. It was something like those in Japan but messier and louder and hotter than he remembered Japan ever being. He hasn’t been in Japan for two months though. 

He took pictures of the kebab stands and barbeque of satay. He drooled over the flipped over pancakes filled with sugar and corn and a thing he heard is called kaya? He snapped a picture of that too. He pointed his camera to the chocolate covered cake of biscuits and the giant woks where flat noodles and soy sauce, vegetables and fishcakes, were all expertly stirred with strong arms and long metal spatulas.

He let the crowd push him through to the end of the rows of stalls and took a small breather. This particular bazaar was at the corner of rows and rows of shop lots. He spotted one lit up a little ways from the bustle of the market. Maybe he should take a break.

And a drink.

This was Keiji’s third time in Malaysia. He’s learnt to only bring the necessities with him. He’s tan enough that he looks like the locals and his eyebags certainly help some. It helps that he’s fluent in Malay and Mandarin and can fake a Malaysian accent whenever he speaks English. No one seems to bother him at all now.

It’s a colourful place in more ways than one. The place is loud and food stalls are open late into the night especially when there’s a football match. Lights are shone bright and blind the stars in the sky so people can have their fun no matter what the time. It’s not just places to drink alcohol or dance until you feel young again. It’s to sit at a table and talk until the night is too cold to feel like the humid country it’s supposed to be. 

But it’s the people that make it colourful. A melting pot of cultures it sure is. There is the sharp chop of the Chinese dialects and the as harsh but different sounds of the Malay language. It’s the way you can find Chinese writing on one sign and English on the next or even Arabic depending on where you go. It’s a mixture for sure but not so that you can’t see each individual for who they are and what their culture brings. It’s harmony that clashes just enough and on occasion too much.

He can hear the smooth and melodic sounds of Tamil amongst the crowd at the mamak stall he’s walked to. It’s his favourite because it’s nearby his motel and there’s always the largest crowd here. He sits at a table and a server is next to him in an instant. He orders an iced Milo and waits. His camera at the ready for anything of interest for him to capture. 

There’s loud shouts as whatever team they’re rooting for scores a goal and by reflex he’s turned to watch as well only to have his eye catch something other than the large TV screen. On his right is a young man. Obviously a tourist from his hefty backpack, his plain white shirt soaked in sweat and khaki pants. It’s quite rare to find a tourist in these parts as it’s not well known for any monumental areas.

And he’s Japanese if from what Keiji can hear from his mutterings and what he can see from the scribblings in his notebook. 

His drink comes just as the man’s food comes. 

Chikara is about to eat when he hears the unmistakable snap of a camera and the sight of a flash from the corner of his eye. He turns to find a gorgeous man dressed humbly in a ragged shirt and jeans, a dripping glass mug of a brown iced drink at his side.

“May I sit by you?” The man asks in fluent Japanese.

How could Chikara say no?


End file.
